


Not in Space

by popyourwhitecollarsup



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:50:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popyourwhitecollarsup/pseuds/popyourwhitecollarsup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has found another job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John Watson walked the familiar steps down Baker Street. Nothing had changed. The houses looked the same, the road had the same noises of traffic and people and footsteps.

He stood on the step just outside 221B, pulled out a set of keys and proceeded to unlock the door. Only this time, it was different.

This was the first time he’d been in 221B for three years.

~

Two days previously, John had been strolling through Hyde Park with his fiancé of two months, Mary. They strode past a man sitting on a bench in a companionable silence, arms linked. It wasn’t until they were a few steps past the bench when John felt eyes on the back of his head.

He instinctively turned round, earning an odd glance from Mary, looking at the stranger on the bench. He was slim, almost lanky, with short ginger hair and sideburns. He was dressed simply in slightly-too-big white shirt and had a book in his hands.

It was only when John looked into his eyes - his bright blue, endless eyes - that he realised who it was.

John panicked. He mumbled an excuse and dragged Mary away. He bolted. He didn’t sleep for two nights.

~

John let himself in to the flat, and was almost floored by a wave of nostalgia. It was homely smell, mixed with years of cooking, old carpet and - if he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply - hydrochloric acid.

He rubbed his shoes on the mat (out of habit) and gingerly made his way up the stairs. _In hindsight_ , he thought, _I probably should have knocked first_. Instead, he got to he stop of the stairs and slowly pushed open the door to the living room.

At first he saw nobody. The flat’s interior remained the same, save for the ‘How Clean is Your House’ style tidy-up. _Either Mrs. Hudson finally gave in to the mess, or someone else is living here_. The nerves really started kicking in.

John took a few steps into the living room and turned to face the kitchen. In it there was the stranger on the bench - tall, lanky, ginger but this time wearing a pilot’s uniform - and there was no mistaking who it was.

Sherlock stirred the cup of tea he’d just made on the counter, not looking up. He put his teaspoon on the counter and sighed deeply before meeting John’s unmoving gaze.

“I did wonder how long it would take you to come here” Sherlock said softly. “I didn’t mean to reveal myself. At least… not yet”

He straightened up and walked over to where John still stood. His navy blue uniform had shiny gold buttons and four gold stripes on each arm. It was expensive-looking and well-pressed. His short, lighter haircut made him look even thinner than usual, some scattered freckles on his nose he must have gotten somewhere that wasn‘t muggy London, and there was a captain’s hat on the table behind him.

“What… what on _earth_ have you been doing for _three years _, Sherlock?” John pushed out, too shocked to ask anything more. Just the satisfaction of speaking to him, saying his name, brought his stammering heart out of his chest and into his throat.__

__“I’ve a new indentity, John. I am now an airline pilot. A captain, in fact.” There was a little bit of pride in his voice._ _

__“What about cases? Do you still solve cases?” John urged._ _

__“No. I can’t risk being found. The best way to stay out of sight is to stay off the earth as much as possible.”_ _

__“Why didn’t you become an astronaut then?” retorted John bitterly. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and paused, considering the question as though it wasn’t sarcastic._ _

__“You think I didn’t try? NASA wouldn’t take me.”_ _

__John’s mouth twitched into an almost smile, and for just that minute it was like those three years hadn’t existed. John took a bold step forward and took Sherlock in his arms. It felt like he had only just done so yesterday. There was no mourning, no funeral, no grief. It had all been washed away, a lost shoe at sea._ _

__~_ _

__After a while, Sherlock pulled away. Keeping his nose touched to John’s, he mumbled something._ _

__“I didn’t quite catch that” John half-lied, feeling Sherlock shake beneath his fingers._ _

__“I missed you.”_ _

__“I missed you too.”_ _

__There was a long silence where nothing was spoken, but everything was said._ _

__“Your new alter-ego,” John whispered “does he have a name?”_ _

__“Martin. Martin Crieff.”_ _

__John laughed._ _

__“If you don’t like it I can change it back. If you’d like.”_ _

__“You do what you like. But keep the freckles. I like the freckles.”_ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John doesn't care much for cake.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

John snapped out of his daze and looked up at his fiancé, who was holding up a photo of a pristine three-tier white wedding cake, complete with baby blue piping and bride and groom figurines on the top.

“Yes, of course. That’s fine by me.” John answered hastily. He glanced at the photo in Mary’s hands. Cake wasn’t exactly at the forefront of his thoughts at the moment.

“No, not the cake” Mary sighed. She put the photograph on the pile in front of her, and shot a meaningful glance at the wedding planner who promptly made an excuse and left the room.

“What’s the matter?” John asked, suddenly aware that the mood in the room had changed from gift-lists and chair-ribbons to something more serious.

“This!” exclaimed Mary, who gestured her hands up at the pale yellow office of their wedding planner, and the large books of laminated photos which they could choose from. “The wedding! Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Wha- well of course it is!” John took Mary’s hand in his own and turned his body to face her properly. “Why wouldn’t I want this?”

Mary’s face dipped sadly. A strand of blonde hair fell over her face.

“You’ve just been so… distant lately” she said quietly, not looking up. “I   
just wondered if you were having second thoughts about… us”

John looked at Mary, at her lips which began to crease and at her big, brown eyes which began to tear up.

“Mary, please don’t-”

John hated seeing her cry.

“It’s just _sniff_ I don’t want you to _sniff_ get cold feet and _sniff_ just bottle it up _sniff_ like you do with everything else”

John pulled a tissue from his pocket and dabbed at Mary’s face.

“Please don’t think for a second that there’s anything wrong with you” John began. He reached up to Mary’s face to lift her chin. “But I’ve never done this before. I’m just a bit nervous is all”

Mary rubbed her nose gingerly and peered up at John.

“Look, I’d be a damn fool if I thought for a second about leaving you. I love you. With _all_ my heart.”

Mary broke into a perfect smile and hugged John. The bite of his lie sat on his tongue.

He knew what he had to do.

~~

 

There was a loud THUMP as Sherlock’s head hit the headboard. He let out a cry of ecstasy. John let his sweating body fall onto Sherlock’s back, breathing heavily. His cheeks were flushed. Seeing stars.

Not exactly what John had in mind, but Sherlock could always read past what John was thinking.

_Oops._

~~

Sherlock turned his head to see John’s profile as they lay in bed together.

“Just say it, John” he murmured impatiently.

“Say what?”

“You’re going to marry Mary. You don’t want to see me again.”

Sherlock’s eyes closed. A sadness seemed to mist over his features.

John turned on his side, his arm outstretched to rub Sherlock’s ginger hair between his fingers.  
“It’s… complicated. Things can’t just _go back_ to the way they were.”

“I don’t see why-”

“ _No_ , Sherlock.” John grew impatient. He licked his lips and sat up. “No cases. No clues. No friendship. None of-” he paused, gesturing to Sherlock’s naked body, only partially obscured by the bed sheet. “-this. When you throw yourself off a bloody building-”

John put a hand to his mouth. The painful memory flashed behind his eyelids. Sherlock sat up and put a hand on John’s shoulder.

“When you do something like that” continued John, his voice quieter. “You negate any chance of having a _normal_ relationship.”

Sherlock hesitated for a moment to ponder John’s use of the word ‘normal’ before he spoke.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”


End file.
